Vasile TĂRÂŢEANU: The Inquisitor to the Poet
You shall be burnt alive at staple
along with your circles, all,
I mean-n… your poems…
Give up, your poems!
Swear
that all you have been claiming is not true,
that a sweet basil wisp
is not lucky love’s blossom,
and dew
will not be dawn tears
as well as perfume
will not be the zodiacal sign of flowers and
the daring will not be
the lion-hearted
and that your parents will not be your parents…
Your parents are not your parents…
Endless is this staple,
mother.
(Traducerea: Ioana Carp)
La mulţi ani, Domnule Poet,
şi Dumnezeu să vă ţie
numai întru bucurie!